Wounds That Pain Him Still
by Skye12
Summary: Sam notices Frodo acting strangely but, to Sam's knowledge, it isn't one of his anniversaries. Some wounds are deeper and more painful than others... some are ageless. No Slash


Wounds That Pain Him Still  
  
It had only been a few weeks perhaps months since Sam had taken to living in Bag-End nearly full time. Frodo made few objections, as it was nice to have someone to talk to and keep him company. He got awfully lonely alone. Before the... well Before, Frodo enjoyed the solitude Bag-End offered despite how much he missed Bilbo. Frodo found some joy in being his own master as well as coming and going as he pleased. But now, well things were darker, emptier, and seemed to withhold a malice Frodo had never noticed before. Sam's presence was a comfort and sometimes he'd spend some days tending to his Gaffer, which Frodo didn't mind as long as Sam returned shortly with his ever sunny and bright cheer to warm up the darkened halls of Bag-End.  
  
Some time had passed and both hobbits were quite content with this routine. Frodo would often accompany Sam on his ventures to replant the Shire, writing and keeping a log of every tree damaged, in need of care or simply beyond care and in need of replacement. Being deputy Mayor, Frodo found some comfort in his duties. Being busy helped both hobbits feel at home. Until Frodo started acting strangely.  
  
Sam watched Frodo with concerned curiosity. His master had seemed ill of late. The past few days he'd shuffled about the smial with little candle light to go by. He seemed aimless even, just wandering and then pausing as if he was about to do something but seeing no point in continuing or simply forgetting altogether he abandons it with a careless wave of his hand and shuts himself up again. Sam had heard his master's soft footsteps outside his door late one night and listened as they disappeared, fading through the corridors. The dutiful gardener roused himself and followed the soft sounds until he was led to the kitchen. Frodo simply offered him a wan smile, a cup of the tea he had been brewing, and "bad dreams" as an explanation for his nightly wanderings as well as the usual apology for waking Sam up. Sam was obviously not pleased.  
  
After that he watched Frodo more closely, he seemed a bit paler but other than so no worse for the wear. What really bothered Sam was after dinner one night he had insisted Frodo take some rest in the solitude of his room and met no objections. Sam paced for a while after he had finished the dishes.  
  
"Ain't right," he mumbled softly. "I know it's not an anniversary for sure. And the gossip has died down a bit as well, not that that ever bothered him before, he was right proud of it sometimes. The weather's fine, bright and sunny days, cool nights, that can't be ailing him at no mistake.  
  
Sam gathered his courage and peeked into the master bedroom. He found Frodo sleeping as peacefully as he ever has, warm and content under the covers. It was rare these days for Frodo to sleep like he used. One arm rested lazily behind his head, the one with the missing finger rested calmly on his stomach, rising and falling with each slow, even breath. He snored a little, which made Sam chuckle. It was very odd to witness a refined gentlehobbit such as Frodo Baggins snoring with his mouth open. But this was normal, he was fine. Sam still needed some reassuring. He turned to the desk where a few papers were scattered but in most other ways it was considerably neat. An unsealed letter was folded atop the pile. Sam felt heat rise to his cheeks as he fumbled to open it.  
  
"Shame on you Sam Gamgee," he muttered in the softest whisper while he read the letter. It was an informal letter to Merry, the cousins always kept in close touch. Sam skimmed over some parts asking of Merry's health, his father's health, everyday business at the hall, rather common boring stuff, even for Sam Gamgee. The end mentioned about a visit in the near future that was a little too swift and blunt for Frodo's style, but all in all nothing to cause much concern for Samwise, so he rested the paper back in its place, feeling all the more ashamed for snooping.  
  
Slightly satisfied but still confused, Sam went off to bed berating himself for looking through his master's things. The next morning Frodo was up before Sam and the young gardener woke to hearing the sounds of someone puttering about the kitchen. He stumbled into the sunny kitchen, sleep addled and a little confused to see Frodo picking off the last of the roasted apples. He looked up at Sam and smiled abashedly.  
  
"Oh, Sam I'm terribly sorry, I haven't left any for you. That was inconsiderate of me, I just couldn't help myself," he murmured. "They are quite delicious."  
  
"No need to be sorry, sir," said Sam rubbing his eyes. "I'll make a decent breakfast in half a moment. Would you like me to draw you a bath, sir?" Frodo waved his hand and shook his head.  
  
"No I'll do it myself. Thank you, Samwise." Frodo used the edge of the table to help himself up and left a very befuddled Sam in the kitchen. Despite his vision being blurry with sleep Sam could still see the red rims of Frodo's eyes. Something still was not right.  
  
Breakfast was beginning to cool in the plates but Sam was uneasy about eating before Frodo got out of the bath so he waited patiently. When his master finally came in, toweling his hair dry and his shirt only half tucked and sticking to him partially because of the steam. He blinked a moment before apologizing again. "You didn't have to wait for me, Sam." Sam just shook his head, noting that Frodo seemed only more drained after his bath. They stared at each other for a while before Frodo turned and disappeared into his room for only a moment before reemerging, his shirt tucked and his braces on his shoulders.  
  
As they ate Sam felt Frodo's eyes on him. "Do you need to ask something of me, sir?"  
  
Frodo smiled a bit. "Yes, actually. I was thinking of making a trip to Buckland to visit Merry. You can be in charge of Bag-End while I'm gone or you could–"  
  
"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to go with you."  
  
Frodo's smile brightened but it still did not quite reach his eyes. There was sadness there. "I'm glad to hear it. I would have liked some company on the road, though I wouldn't want to take you away from Hobbiton again, even if it were only for a week or so."  
  
"No sir, I'd like to go, to see Master Merry again that is." You're not getting away that easily, thought Sam. You're up to something, and by the looks of it, something Sam won't like at that.  
  
"I know your courting Rose Cotton, Sam," Frodo began a bit uneasily. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of any troubles."  
  
"A week's not so long, sir. She'll understand." Wily, stubborn, old Baggins, you, Sam added in his thoughts then quickly chastised himself.  
  
Sam finished helping Frodo clean up the breakfast, Frodo insisting that he would contribute to the clean up, Sam supposed he just wanted something to do and so did not argue so much. Once all was done Sam made ready to spend the next few days back at Number Three Bagshot Row and tend to his own matters and family. Frodo accompanied him for a respectful visit to the Gaffer, which inevitably led to Frodo receiving a stern lesson on roots and weeds from the old gardener. As evening approached Frodo bowed to the Gaffer, once again yielding to his superior farming wisdom, and bid a respectful goodbye to Sam and his siblings. Sam saw hide nor hair of Frodo for the next few days.  
  
The young hobbit worried himself into a near tizzy those days, casting a few glances towards Bag-End and wringing his hands on whether to simply drop by and see if his master was all right. He only stopped by twice but each time his harried knocking was unanswered. Reasoning that Frodo was probably out in the market or visiting the inn. Some claimed to have seen him. Sam inquired Mrs. Burrows who managed a bookstand at the market with her husband. It was a frequent stop for Frodo. In her thick East Farthing accent she replied that Master Baggins appeared at least every other day as cordial and courteous as ever, always looking for something strange and unique and rarely satisfied but always polite. She mentioned nothing out of the ordinary and Sam began to wonder if he just had poor timing.  
  
By the end of the week Sam could not be more anxious to get to Bag-End and check on his master. His sister Daisy joked about him acting like a mother hen. He did not care. She seemed to express some care when she took on several of his chores so he could leave early. His fingers could not turn that key in Bag-End's lock faster. He swung the door open, tossed his cloak to the floor, and bounded through the rooms of Bag-End attempting to call his master in a calm voice. It was obviously not very convincing. Frodo stumbled out of his room looking concerned, confused, a very tired.  
  
"What is it, Sam? What's happened?"  
  
Sam paused, almost shocked to see his master standing on his own two feet. Before long his shock gave way to utter embarrassment. His cheeks flushed and he began to stammer and sputter anything he could to explain. "Well sir, I've uh... oh well I didn't mean to... to... frighten you... tweren't nothing... I was just being an old ninnyhammer, sir... I thought you... you might be ill because erm... I came to visit a few days ago and you didn't answer when I knocked, sir."  
  
Frodo blinked a few times then sighed. He let his hand drop which had been poised on the doorframe when he swung himself out into the hall. He chuckled a bit before noticing that Sam was truly frightened. "Oh dear silly Sam," he shook his head and put his arm around his friend. "I didn't mean to worry you. I did hear someone knocking on a few occasions, but judging by the harsh snap of the knock I could have sworn it was Lobelia and I am truly not in any states to tolerate a visit right now."  
  
"I doubt anyone is," Sam attempted to laugh but it only came out as a slight, breathy wheeze.  
  
Frodo nodded understandingly and set to playing a proper host. He offered Sam tea and receiving no answer went about getting it anyway. Sam took a few moments to think. What did Frodo mean by "he was in no states"? The gardener thought on this as he followed Frodo into the kitchen. He sat down at the table while Frodo set up the teapot. The post was in front of him and Sam recognized the Brandybuck seal on one of the letters. "You got an answer from Mr. Merry already, sir?" Frodo turned to Sam and then followed his eyes to the letters on the table. He just smiled and nodded as he poured the tea.  
  
"Yes, the post is moving faster now that the roads are safer I think." Frodo handed Sam his teacup and settled down, taking a sip from his own. "How did you know when I sent my last letter?"  
  
Sam's eyes widened and he found a proper curse for himself in his head. "Not that I did, sir. I saw the letter on your desk a few days ago, meaning no disrespect I saw that it was addressed to Mr. Merry." He blushed again. "I'm sorry, sir."  
  
Frodo waved his hand. "Nonsense, I keep no secrets from you." A small twinkle shone in his eye. "Not anymore that is."  
  
Sam could not find the spirit to laugh. Frodo did not seem to notice. He had gone rather quite again, warming his hands on his teacup. "Sir?"  
  
"Hmm, yes Sam? Oh yes, well I do plan to go soon, perhaps tomorrow or... soon."  
  
Sam cocked his head, "Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Mmm, oh yes, sorry Sam I feel a little weary today." His voice cracked a little. "We have to get there soon." Quickly he straightened and blinked, clearing his throat and continuing. "When would be a good time for you to leave? You can spend some more time at home if you like, pack your things, make sure everything is in order."  
  
"I just came back, sir."  
  
"Yes, I suppose you did."  
  
"Well everything is in order and Hal is taking care of things for now. I can go tomorrow if you like."  
  
Frodo stood up abruptly then fumbled with an excuse for his leaving, found nothing and swiftly said, "Wonderful, we'll be ready sunrise tomorrow if that is alright. I'd like to get there... soon." With that he retreated to his room. Sam blinked, sighed, and went about cleaning before going out to the garden.  
  
By sunset Sam was comforted and quite pleased with how the garden was coming. Things were slowly coming back to normal. The hollyhocks were coming back as strong and beautiful as ever but the daisies and larkspur had been dealt a crippling blow. Creeping weeds had made their way through half the east side and swallowed up the ivy there. Sam had fought with them for days and now they seemed to be retreating back to the wretched shadows from whence they came. Sam nodded approval and quit before the sun set so that he may ready the ponies for tomorrow's ride.  
  
Frodo placed his pack and cloak on the coat rack and then puttered about the smial tidying things and closing the curtains as the last rays of the sunlight filtered away. Once he found nothing to occupy himself he sighed and dropped onto his bed. He watched his feet dangle slightly, brushing his toes against the wood floor, watching a few puffs of dust scurry away at the slightest breeze. He read Merry's letter until he had it memorized and then let it drift to the floor. Folding his hands in his lap he prepared himself for a long restless night.  
  
Frodo didn't hear Sam's knock on his front door and the soft knock on his bedroom door was not even answered. Sam peered in to see Frodo sitting on the edge of his bed, watching his feet. He looked up and smiled wearily, his eyes were red rimmed and he seemed a shade too pale.  
  
"Sorry, Sam, I woke a while ago and just got lost in thought."  
  
Sam nodded absently and gestured outside toward the ponies. Frodo got up with a groan, he stretched, arching his back, which had been slumped the whole night. He shuffled after Sam and picked up his things at the door. Sam noted that their ride for the entire morning was far too silent and Frodo seemed to slow down at times, his pony unsure whether its master desired a stop for a rest or not. Frodo was nodding slightly and then urged Strider on. "I'd like to get there on the evening of the third day if that's possible."  
  
"It will take a bit of haste, sir, but I believe we can make it."  
  
"Good," said Frodo. It was the most pleased and animated tone his voice had taken on in days.  
  
It is not to say their trip was entirely uneventful. As they traveled through Hobbiton they got more than a few shocked and unhappy stares. Unconcealed murmurs of "Mad Baggins going off again!" or "I wonder what he's got himself into this time!" floated through the Hobbiton crowds. Frodo would normally smile and laugh madly to convince them that he was truly insane, but after the Quest Sam could understand why Frodo chose to speed up his pony and duck his head.  
  
The ride through the countryside was much more peaceful and easier on his master. Sam smiled when he saw Frodo turn his face toward the sunlight and smile like it was a clear white spring on parched lips. Frodo seemed to heal in the sanctity of the wild. The old scars in the land were healing over with wild green growth. The new young trees Sam had planted were growing into thin grey shoots with pale green buds.  
  
"Look sir!" Sam pointed excitedly. "I never seen a tree that grew that fast! And look at the little youngin sprouts! Look sir!" Frodo smiled brightly, happier to see Sam's joy than anything else.  
  
"They'll grow strong, Sam, and majestic just like the trees of Lorien. All under your care."  
  
Sam blushed. It seemed all Frodo needed was the two days in the vast, healing countryside to heal as well. Sam saw that he slept deeply, curled deep into the grass and soft turf. They both awoke a little late that morning, the dew drying on them. Frodo seemed distraught to see the sun had risen so high and nearly left without breakfast but Sam insisted he get some nourishment for the long day's ride.  
  
Despite Frodo's haste he still seemed to enjoy the world blossoming around him and Sam took short comfort in that. Until they reached the small towns leading up to Buckland. Suddenly Frodo became withdrawn again, quiet and dismal. A group of children quickly recognized the saviors of Middle-Earth with a cheer and a whoop, surrounding them and eager with questions. Frodo smiled and allowed a smaller child to ride in front of him for a while. However they begged and pleaded Frodo politely declined staying to tell stories. Sam saw that he had difficulty hiding his sorrow when he heard some shout "Did you really trick a dragon in a riddle game?" "When you saved the king did he give you chests of gold?" "How did you defeat the legions of orcs?" "Can you really ride a white horse?" "How did you slay the creature Gollum?"  
  
Sam shook his head, "I wonder if we can credit Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry for filling their heads with that."  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and waited until the children had given up and gone home. "No," he said quietly. "They wouldn't do that. They never did feel right telling our part of the tale without us. You remember."  
  
Sam nodded quietly. They would reach Brandy Hall the next day perhaps.  
  
That night was far from as peaceful as the others. Sam watched Frodo toss restlessly in his sleep before falling deeper into dreams. When the loyal gardener saw fit to finally nod off himself he heard a soft cry escape his master. Like a small, frightened, pent up sob that had trembled in his breast for an age before finally escaping into the cold night air. "Master?" whispered Sam, leaning over him.  
  
Frodo's hands quivered as they lay folded on his breast. His lip trembled and he furrowed his brow as if he felt a pain, a deep pain that hurt him like a new gash in his stomach, but for some reason Sam thought it seemed very old. The voice was that of a child's.  
  
"You don't know what it's like," he murmured. It was so frightened. Sam placed his warm hands atop Frodo's cold ones.  
  
"Shh, sir, It's gone, you're alright."  
  
Frodo tossed his head to the side and whimpered. "Gone," was the agonized acceptance. "You don't know what it's like." The voice was less composed now, more frightened and alone and so very lost. "To be this alone."  
  
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Merry was waiting by the door when they arrived. He too seemed very serious, even sorrowful, his grey eyes tired and full of pity when he looked upon Frodo. Sam resolved that something indeed was going on and that he would wheedle it out of Merry first chance he got. When Frodo dismounted Merry embraced his cousin tightly, as if Frodo had just come back from the dead. Frodo rested his head wearily on Merry's shoulder only for an instant before he returned the embrace half-heartedly and then pulled away.  
  
"Are you weary from your ride?" inquired Merry, addressing both hobbits. "I've had rooms prepared for you, beds ready and baths drawn. I could call for any food you like any time you'd like it, all you need is ask."  
  
"I know cousin, your hospitality is ever appreciated," said Frodo softly. "I think I will sleep though I feel awful letting that bath go to waste."  
  
Merry smiled wryly and crinkled his nose. "Well I'm not saying that you couldn't use it."  
  
Frodo seemed to fight back his grin for a while before he lost the battle and gave Merry a punch in the shoulder.  
  
"Careful cousin," replied Merry. "You've not lost your strength in your old age."  
  
"You want another?"  
  
"Pray no!"  
  
Frodo smiled wryly and entered Brandy Hall silently. Sam cocked his head and Merry helped him bring the ponies to the stables. Perfect, thought Sam.  
  
"I'm a bit confused by all this, sir. Care to explain? You seem to know what's troubling my master."  
  
Merry turned a shocked almost fearful expression to Sam. The gardener recognized the grey light in those eyes. "He didn't tell you?" croaked Merry.  
  
Sam shook his head. Merry rubbed his sleeve across his eyes and bowed his head.  
  
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Frodo stared as his wavering reflection in the water with a dull, angry terror. He was captivated by the sparkling surface, soft curls of steam rose from it. He tightened his white-knuckle grip on the tub's edge before smacking his reflection violently and fleeing the room with his cloak half on.  
  
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Sam was sitting in the stables with Merry. He felt some tears hot on his cheeks but could not remember shedding them. He burrowed his head in his hands and sighed heavily. "That explains it all, sir. Oh I wish I had known. He didn't tell me."  
  
"I suppose things were easier before."  
  
Sam just nodded, then shook his head, then simply could not make up his mind. "I don't want to leave him alone now."  
  
"He's sleeping perhaps but you are right we should check on him. He hates being surrounded by all these concerned faces. He liked to be alone before."  
  
"I still don't like it, sir. He's been acting strangely for weeks. I want to be there..."  
  
"Come on, Sam, we'll check on him, though he'll probably box my ears for being such a mother hen."  
  
"He's tolerated me for the past few weeks and that's what I've been. I wish he'd have told me or something. He's had me worried sick."  
  
"I'm sure, that's just like Frodo."  
  
Merry led Sam up the stairs to the room he always prepared for Frodo when he visited. It was a comfort to him, something familiar every time he was far from home. The door was open, the bath was cool, and the bed was unoccupied. Sam heard Merry curse silently and then shout, "Come on, I know where he is!" before dashing down the steps. It took a moment for the gardener to register before turning and following the young master.  
  
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Sam sighed in relief when they stopped before a small barrow in the hills behind Brandy Hall. Frodo lay asleep before it, his one hand reaching out to touch the small stone in the barrow. In his other hand he gripped a fistful of nemophile, little star like flowers. The pale grass grew long about this place and waved mournfully in the slight breeze, softly brushing against Frodo's tear stained cheeks. The whole grave was trimmed with phlox, growing in scattered patches amongst the grass. Dandelion puffs danced in the breeze and some lay to rest in the dark curls of Frodo's hair. His cloak was thrown carelessly about him and he shivered slightly in his sleep. Carved into the grey stone, beneath Frodo's quivering fingertips, fine letters spelled out neatly:  
  
Drogo Baggins  
  
Primula Brandybuck Baggins  
  
Ever Dearly Missed  
  
Merry threw his cloak over his cousin's sleeping form and Frodo curled into it, eager for the warmth. He sighed, his lips parting slightly in a slight whispered, "Mmm Mama, Papa," before he drifted through his troubled dreams once again. Merry shook his head, tears on his cheeks as he bent and kissed his cousin's forehead gently before laying his head softly on Frodo's back and weeping quietly. Sam fell to his knees and began to weave the phlox that grew about the grave to make a flowered frame for the stone. It was the only gift he could give just then. When Merry had finished he rose and turned to Sam. "Get some bedrolls and blankets, I don't want to move him, we can spend the night here."  
  
"Right sir."  
  
Sam scurried away and Merry turned back to his cousin, softly stroking his hair. "Forty-years hence, cousin, forty-years today and after all you've endured this wound pains you most of all." 


End file.
